Taming the Serpent
by frozenpixie
Summary: If in doubt, flirt wildly. Astoria/Draco oneshot.


**This really just came totally off the top of my head so it may make absolutely no sense to somebody not high on sleep deprivation, essay panic and chocolate. But please read and review anyway. IMPROMPTU SEQUEL UP, for those who are interested, it's called Serpent Subdued, so if you like this, check it out for more random banter, name-calling and fluffy goodness.**

I'm really angry now. Tired and frustrated, I stare at the scribbled, blotched, entirely useless scroll of parchment in front of me, then at the clock, then at the parchment again, and let out a strangled scream of annoyance. It's twelve minutes past midnight and I am not even half way through my potions essay. Besides, what I have written is completely insensible as well as being about as easy to read as Professor Snape's mood, i.e. it is either entirely miserable or totally inscrutable. I feel the need to vent my feelings.

"Fuck," I exclaim to the empty common room. "Fuckity fuck, FUCK!"

"Greengrass?" A horribly familiar drawl comes from behind me, and I whip around to find a horribly familiar blond head poking up from behind a sofa.

"Who the hell else would be here at this time of the sodding night?!" I snap unreasonably.

"Sorry," Draco Malfoy says, the irritating sarcasm in his voice made even more unbearable by the tinge of amusement. "I'll just go back to sleep, shall I?" His head sinks sideways back onto the sofa, out of sight. I turn back to my essay, hissing in anger, not bothering to ask what in the name of seven hells he is doing sleeping downstairs, only to see the illegible blotches and horrifically misspelled ingredients sprawled across my page. Without any rational thought, I totally lose it and grab the sheet roughly, smashing it into a crumpled ball and hurling it into the fireplace, then folding my arms tightly across my chest, fuming.

"Gods, Greengrass, what did that parchment ever do to you?" Draco asks, his head surfacing again.

"Leave me a-fucking-lone," I spit out through gritted teeth. The last thing I want to deal with right now is the boy who looks at me as if I am a juicy prize to be won, or worse still, a fruit ripe for the picking, without ever a by-your-leave. The fact that I often fantasise about grabbing him and smacking him a big one right on the lips is not currently occurring to my frazzled synapses. He gives me a look which is clearly questioning my mental stability, and my face adjusts itself into a suitably ferocious scowl.

"Happy to, but it's sort of difficult to catch any z's with you cursing and screaming all through the night," he tells me nonchalantly. I give in and take the bait.

"Then why in the name of flying turdheaps are you sleeping in the motherwhacking common room?" I ask with very forced patience.

"Why the motherwhack are you suddenly talking like a retard?" Draco asks back, imitating my tone of voice, again with his intolerably smug air of detached amusement. "You managed some damn fine swears a moment ago."

"Right now is not the time to try my patience," I warn him. "Unless you want a faceful of ink and a mouthful of potions textbook. And it's a very thick book. And I may have spilt some form of poison on it in the recent past."

"All right," Draco mock-whispers. "Keep it down, then." Yet again I watch his immaculate blond locks disappear from view. I sit still for a few moments. Then I creep silently forwards to peek over the back of his sofa. His eyelids are closed and he is reclining comfortably, feet dangling elegantly off the end of the arm. I lean closer.

"Malfoy!" I bark. His eyes shoot open like a rocket.

"What?" he demands.

"What in the name of Salazar's suspenders are you doing sleeping down here? And answer the Snapebothering question before changing the subject!" He raises his eyebrows at me.

"That might be possible if you stopped using such absurd expressions," he says calmly, shifting into a slightly more upright position. "Tell me, do you usually invoke our dear Potions Professor when you get annoyed?"

"First time," I say tensely. "I get jittery when I'm sleep deprived." I am becoming increasingly aware that my foul temper is being replaced by a very odd mood, one which includes a feeling of great physical discomfort in being so close to Mr-Smug-Sarcasm.

"I don't know if that gives me a better or worse view of your general mental state," Draco muses. I narrow my eyes at him. He raises himself onto his elbows, so that his face is inches from my own. "But you look very sexy when you're angry."

"Now is not the time to hit on me, either," I say, backing off a little, ignoring the hot swoop which surges through my stomach at the feel of his warm breath on my face. "Right now the best seduction technique would be to tell me exactly why polyjuice potion cannot be taken using animal hair." Draco chuckles and raises his eyebrows suggestively.

"Kinks," he observes, winking at me so that I feel an involuntary blush suffusing my usually ivory complexion. "You're adorable when you're being weird." He raises himself off his sofa, and jumps lithely over the back so that he is once again facing me, no barriers between us this time. I am oddly distracted by how breathless and fluttery this is making me feel. This is no good. I decide that brutality is the only option here.

"And you are obnoxious 24/7," I retort, summoning generations of Greengrass haughtiness to my aid and drawing myself up to my less-than-impressive five-four. The only effect is a slight widening of his insufferable smirk.

"But you are beautiful, you are intelligent, you are utterly enchanting, even when you're tired, and stressed, and unable to write a sub-OWL level essay," he purrs into my ear, sending very unwelcome shivers to very unmentionable places as he does so. "Shall I go on?" I can do nothing at this point but numbly shake my head.

"Nnngh," I manage.

"All right, then," he pipes, in a suddenly very conversational voice, pulling back to a respectable distance. "It's clear that you are completely 100% impervious to my usual charms. Maybe this will work: If animal hairs or any other part of a non-human creature is added to polyjuice, it will cause incomplete and semi-permanent transformation which can be harmful to the long-term health of the witch or wizard in question who has taken the potion. This is due to the difference of molecular composition of humans and animals, and to the gearing of the potion. The only way to achieve animal form is through complex transfiguration, which is not recommended, or by animagus magic." He finishes his rapidly spoken speech with a lopsided smile, and lowers his voice a few octaves into a deeply arousing purr. "Turned on?"

I throw myself at him. Quills and books go flying as we crash into the table, but neither of us takes any notice. I am too busy trying to wrap my legs around his waist, and he is too busy exploring my mouth with his highly talented tongue. It is a long time before we part, panting and gasping, hearts pumping faster than... I can't think of a simile suitable for this situation, something almost unheard of for me. Faster than fast things. Our lips crash together after only a few brief seconds apart, and hands begin roaming to new and exciting places, mine through his silky soft hair and up his now rumpled shirt, and his over my firmly clamped thighs and across the arch of my back. It is bliss on a plate.

Five minutes finds us both reclining on the couch, his arms wrapped snugly around me and my hands playing with his hair.

"Why are you sleeping downstairs?" I ask him softly. He gives me a heart-melting grin, and shifts infinitesimally underneath me.

"So that I could distract you from your stupid essay and heartlessly seduce you," he smirks. I smirk back.

"Nice answer," I compliment. He inclines his head mockingly.

"How come you swear like a sailor one minute and start spouting insane adjectival nonsense the next?" he counters playfully, his thumbs caressing my back in slow, sexy circles.

"Because although I am a lady I am also a Slytherin," I respond. "And you bring out the worst in me."

"Oh, _good," _Draco says sincerely, grin getting wider. "I like a challenge. And as for a woman who can concoct inventive curse-substitutes to suit the company at a moment's notice, well, they're few and far between."

"Lucky you," I murmur dryly.

"I thought so."


End file.
